


Obi-Wan and His Feral Disaster Child: Scenes, Ficlets, and Drabbles from Anakin's Padawan Years

by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters)



Series: Anakin and Obi-Wan [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Arguments, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Birthdays, Care, Comfort, Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Food, Friendship, Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Misunderstandings, More tags to be added, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Parental Obi-Wan, Sickfic, Whump, Young Anakin Skywalker, injuries, mush, starships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachybitters/pseuds/Peach_Bitters
Summary: A collection of stories that aren't long enough to be posted alone, featuring Obi-Wan and young Anakin as they navigate  their loving but complicated relationship as Master and Padawan. New tags will be added as chapters are posted.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Series: Anakin and Obi-Wan [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864819
Comments: 57
Kudos: 133





	1. Black Eye

“And just what have you been into? You look a fright, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan had just returned to his quarters to find his apprentice sitting in the middle of the sitting room floor, various classwork-related items -flimsi and holobooks mostly - strewn about him. This wasn’t at all uncommon; in fact the boy did most of his studying in this room, using his own room for sleeping and working on the mechanical projects that Obi-Wan forbade from cluttering up his own chambers. On this day, though, Obi-Wan was surprised to see his twelve year old apprentice grinning up at him with an eye so purple and swollen that it was nearly shut.

“You should see the other guy,” Anakin laughed.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan shrugged off his robe and hung in on its customary hook by the door. He wondered briefly if Anakin had been fighting his fellow students again. It had been a long time, but the storms of adolescence had recently set in, and he wouldn't have been surprised if the sometimes-prickly young Padawan had lost his temper with someone or other. But no..if that had been the case, Anakin would probably be hiding somewhere, as far from his master’s quarters as he could get. And certainly not looking so pleased with himself.

“Master Danva came to my hand-to-hand combat class and taught us about Teras Kasi,” Anakin said, nearly jumping to his feet. “I never saw it before, it’s fierce. Did you know it was created especially for people to fight Jedi? There’s this one move -”

“Anakin, come here and let me look at your eye,” Obi-Wan interrupted, sitting down on one of his meditation seats.

Anakin moved over to him, still talking. “There’s a move called Steel Hands-”

“Did you put anything on your eye?” Obi-Wan asked, with an attempt to convict rather than question. He already knew the answer.

Anakin shook his head.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

The boy shrugged. “Kinda.”

Obi-Wan didn’t bother to suppress any exasperated sigh. He’d told Anakin a thousand times to treat his injuries as soon as possible. As Jedi stationed at the Temple, they had a wealth of medicine on hand for treating nearly any complaint. But Anakin had never quite gotten past the concept that minor injuries were to be “toughed out.” Where he had spent his childhood, medicine had been a luxury to be hoarded away only for the gravest needs.

“I am going to meet with Master Windu and the delegation from Malastare in two hours, and you are coming with me, and you can’t go like this,” Obi-Wan said seriously. “Now, go and get my medkit.”

Anakin obeyed, almost skipping into Obi-Wan’s bedroom to fetch the kit. _He likes when I make a fuss over him,_ he thought. _That’s probably the real reason why he doesn’t treat himself._

So different from Obi-Wan as a boy, who’d downplayed or hidden nearly every illness or injury from his own master. He had wanted Qui-Gon to see him as competent, grown up, able to take care of himself. When he’d gotten a bit older, he’d only wanted his master not to worry over him. But Anakin wore his bruises, burns and cuts proudly, welcoming comment and scrutiny from his master.

The Padawan returned quickly with the kit and sat down on the seat across from Obi-Wan, who took out the familiar tube of bacta cream and squeezed some into his hand. He contemplated a lecture for his apprentice as he worked about how he really was old enough to do this for himself. _Really, Anakin, you should be more mindful. More careful._

But the words dissolved on his tongue.

He finished with the cream and then directed Anakin to his cooling unit for a cold pack to help with the swelling. “Hold it there for ten minutes.”

He went to his console, bringing up a few reports to prepare for the meeting. Behind him, Anakin hopped back and forth across the room, practicing his Teras Kasi “moves” and dutifully holding the cold pack to his eye. Obi-Wan smiled to himself. The boy he’d brought to the Temple was disappearing more and more each day, would soon be gone, changed forever. Everyday he could see less of the child in Anakin, and more of something else - the beginnings of a man with a steel will and stubborn determination trying to break through and claim what was his.

For now, in the Force, Anakin was emanating a childlike contentment he had not felt from him in some time. It wouldn’t last, of course. The storms would return and they would both have to brave them. But the moments of peace he would allow himself to savor.


	2. The Teacup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned out kind of sad, but I still like it...

Anakin would have never said that he let the cup break on purpose - it didn’t happen exactly like that. By all rights, it should never have slipped from his hands in the first place, shattering before him on the floor of the tiny room that passed for Obi-Wan’s kitchen. His Jedi reflexes were honed enough to stop it from falling, had been sharp enough even eight years before, when he was untrained and new to the Temple. And yet it fell now- somehow he let it fall- even though he never would have said that he wanted it to. Or did he?

They’d been arguing, he and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan didn’t want him to enter the senior Padawan lightsaber tournament that year, had said Anakin had been showing off too much lately, getting above himself. Anakin had protested vehemently. What was so wrong with winning, with being the best and everyone knowing it? The only way Anakin had ever been able to fit in at all at the Temple was through his skill, through winning. People had begun to expect it of him. And his own master had never been able to comprehend that.

Obi-Wan had frowned and then sent Anakin into the kitchen to make tea so that they could “talk about this reasonably,” like Anakin was supposed to believe they were old friends about to sit down for a pleasant chat. It wouldn’t be like that. Obi-Wan was going to lay everything out like it was all Anakin’s fault, like he always did, and Anakin would have to nod and agree, his undrunk tea would grow cold, and then that would be that.

But the cup crashed to the floor before the tea was even made, and they never got to that part.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said stiffly, and nothing else followed. He did that sometimes. Just used his Padawan’s name as a sort of indictment, as if all of his problems of his life could be summed up in that name.

The cup had shattered spectacularly into several small pieces. A delicate, handmade thing from Chalacta, not at all like the grey, plain unbreakable cups you could get in the Temple supply rooms. Not even Anakin would be able to fix it.

“I’ll clean it up,” Anakin said. Shame was creeping over him now, the realization of what he had done dawning on him.

“No,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “Leave it. Just go.”

“I’m sorry. It was Qui-Gon’s, wasn’t it?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth became a thin line of cold disapproval. “That hardly concerns me. What concerns me is your attitude.”

Anakin felt his face grow hot. “Why do you pretend like you don’t care? It was the only thing you kept of his. It must mean something to you. And I broke it.”

Obi-Wan put his fingertips to his temple and turned, moving out of the kitchen. Anakin followed him into the main room.

“Master. It’s okay if you’re upset about it. I know it’s only a thing, but-”

Obi-Wan wheeled around so suddenly that Anakin took an astonished step backward. “Do  _ not _ tell me how I’m allowed to feel.”

Anakin blinked at him. Displays of such passion from Obi-Wan were rare and unsettling. “Forgive me, Master.”

“Just go,” Obi-Wan said, voice chilly again. “We’ll talk later.” He turned away.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin whispered. He stood for a moment, taking in his master’s rigid form, waiting for him to let out a breath and turn to face him again. But Obi-Wan stood where he was.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin repeated. He did not wait for an answer this time, but left his master alone in the darkening room.

  
  



	3. The Pilot's Seat

Anakin took a deep breath and decided to try again. Obi-Wan was a reasonable man. Well, sometimes.

“Master, please let me fly. You don’t even _like_ piloting.”

Obi-Wan stared straight ahead out the cockpit window as their ship ascended into space. “I like piloting better than I like watching helplessly while you crash into trees.”

“I didn’t ‘ _crash into trees’,”_ Anakin protested _. "_ I clipped _one_ tree. Barely.”

“You were flying recklessly, which I asked you not to do. I don’t think I need to remind you that this is a Temple transport and we are entrusted with its care. It’s not a toy to be played with.”

Anakin pouted and swiveled lazily around in his cockpit chair. As always, Obi-Wan’s definition of “reckless” was a lot different than his. All he’d done was try out a couple maneuvers he’d already practiced dozens of times in the Temple’s flying simulators. So maybe he’d gotten a little enthusiastic, but was that reason enough to be banished from the pilot's seat for the trip back to the Temple? He didn’t think so. He’d done well on this training excursion and thought he deserved to fly them back to Coruscant.

“It’s not fair.”

Obi-Wan ignored his apprentice, continuing to frown over the navicomputer’s display in front of him. He was always so kriffing slow and careful.

“If I were flying we’d be in hyperspace already,” Anakin muttered. 

“You might have made yourself useful and charted our course already if you weren’t so insistent on throwing your tantrum,” Obi-Wan said evenly, still not looking up.

“I’m not throwing a tantrum!” Anakin gripped the seat of his chair tightly with both hands.

“You _are_ throwing a tantrum,” Obi-Wan said, an edge creeping into his voice. “Your behavior is not at all becoming of a Jedi Padawan.”

Anakin huffed, folding his arms and staring out into the starfield. The ship floated motionless in space, humming quietly and waiting for commands as Obi-Wan continued to fiddle with the coordinates. He was being slow on purpose. 

“Why do you always talk like a protocol droid,” Anakin growled. “Or like you’re a hundred years old.”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer, but Anakin thought he could feel a ripple of irritation through the Force. Good. Anakin was feeling wicked, and if Obi-Wan didn’t think his behavior was becoming maybe he would just embrace it fully.

“Old man,” Anakin said, studying his master’s face closely. He said it rather quietly, but of course Obi-Wan could still hear him. He knew he was playing a game of Chance with his outbursts, but seeing Obi-Wan ruffled and flustered might just be worth it.

“Time for the pre-jump checks,” Obi-Wan said, his voice tight. He flipped a couple switches and the navicomputer swung up above the dash to its normal resting spot.

Anakin gaped. Pre-jump checks? Normally when the navicomputer processed their coordinates they were ready to jump. The checks could be done by the ship’s computer in a matter of seconds, then scanned over for anomalies. Manual checks were for rookie pilots and people who wanted to be extra cautious, not something that was usually needed.

“We aren’t in a rush. A little extra safety never hurt,” Obi-Wan said, turning to face his apprentice. Anakin thought he saw the tiniest glimmer of humor in his eyes. “And it’s good practice.”

“But-”

“Hyperspace transponder on standby,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin mashed a button in front of him and glanced at a display. “Hyperspace integrator stabilized,” he announced, rolling his eyes. Fine, he would play Obi-Wan’s annoying game. At least it would get them moving.

“Coaxium levels at ninety five point five per cent,” Obi-Wan said.

“Coaxium regulator operating at one hundred percent power,” Anakin sighed.

It went on like that for a couple minutes as they went through the more than thirty standard checks without missing a beat. Both of them knew every check and the proper order to do them. When the hum in the cockpit changed over to a high frequency whine, Obi-Wan cut the lateral stabilizer and re-engaged it without even pausing in his other checks, and the ship purred again. Anakin stole a wondering glance at his master. He couldn’t imagine how Obi-Wan could say he disliked flying but somehow knew the starcraft with an intimate familiarity, could probably take it apart and put it back together blindfolded, if he wanted to. 

They got through the checks and then there was nothing left to do for Anakin but to sit back in his seat and wait for Obi-Wan to pull the lever that would jump them into hyperspace. But his master didn’t touch it. Anakin looked over at him, questioning. The corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched slightly as he gestured toward the lever.

“Well? Go ahead, Anakin. I know you want to.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. Obi-Wan was acting as pilot, so it was Obi-Wan’s job to pull the lever. Those were just the rules. But he reached out for the lever, only stopping when he caught his master’s eye again. Something about the gentle way Obi-Wan was looking at him made him hesitate. But when Obi-Wan’s smile widened as if he were about to laugh, Anakin grabbed it and pulled it forward with little ceremony. The stars outside the cockpit became white streaks across the blackness of space as they made the jump.

Anakin looked over at Obi-Wan and smiled. “Thanks, Old Man.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. But all the same, he laughed, understanding.


	4. It's the Thought That Counts

It wasn't going too badly, for a first attempt at cooking. At least, everything smelled like food. The problem was, anakin had never actually eaten Stewjoni cuisine before, so whether or not the stuff actually qualified as authentic was anyone’s guess. In fact, he’d never even cooked anything, but it wasn’t too hard. Just like building anything, you had to take it step by step and improvise when you needed to. For the most part, he’d been able to follow along with the recipes he’d found in the Archives. Of course, he’d had to make a few substitutions, since the Temple stores were a bit limited in selection when it came to things like spices. All Stewjoni recipes seemed to call for an obscure ingredient called “bluesalt” too, and Anakin could only hope regular salt would work decently enough in its place.

Today was Obi-Wan’s birthday on the traditional Stewjoni calendar. Anakin wasn’t even sure if his master knew. Jedi seemed only to track their birthdays by the official Republic calendar, and Anakin had only recently stumbled upon his master’s by accident when doing a research project in the Archives.

It had seemed like a decent idea at the time. It had occurred to Anakin recently that no one ever did anything nice for his master - Anakin least of all if he was to be perfectly honest. If he was going to be perfectly honest, sometimes it felt like the only thing he gave his master were headaches. So he’d wanted to do something special. Even if Jedi didn’t usually celebrate their birthdays, it seemed a logical enough occasion.

But now, looking around Obi-Wan’s tiny kitchen, he’d wondered if he’d gone overboard. After an afternoon spent cooking, the room was a mess; he’d probably dirtied every dish Obi-Wan owned. And he hadn’t even begun to clean up the brown splatters he’d carelessly dripped on the floor while making the sauce. His master wouldn’t appreciate the mess, that was for certain. And even if Anakin got everything cleaned up and restored to perfection, it was possible Obi-Wan would think he’d wasted his time, cooking an elaborate, frivolous meal when he might have been practicing or studying.

But it was too late for regrets now. Obi-Wan would be back soon.

The front door hissed open.

Anakin cursed under his breath. Obi-Wan  _ was _ home. Early, for once!

As Anakin expected, he made a bee-line to the kitchen. Anakin grabbed a rag and began scrubbing up the worst of the spills as his master came to investigate.

“You never cease to surprise me,” Obi-Wan remarked casually. “How long have you been interested in cooking?.”

Anakin shrugged. “Well, not long. But, you know, today’s a special occasion”

“Oh?”

Anakin dipped a spoon into a pot on the range and tasted the contents, a spicy-sweet thick soup. He looked over at his master. “Want to try?”

Obi-wan stepped forward, frowning curiously, and took the spoon. But he didn’t dip it into the pot, only stood there peering over the gently bubbling soup. “Anakin, is this Stewjoni?”

Something like relief washed over Anakin, even if Obi-Wan didn't look exactly happy about dinner. At least it was recognizable. That was a start. “Yeah. It’s your Stewjoni birthday. Didn’t you know?”

Obi-Wan stood up straighter then and blinked at him, still holding the spoon in his hand. “Anakin, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know I didn’t,” Anakin said, sharper than he meant. “That’s what a present is, Master.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, smiling a little. “I’m sorry, Padawan. It is very kind of you. I’m touched.”

Anakin tossed his rag onto the counter, turning to his master fully and aiming a hard look at him. Something wasn’t sitting well. “What's wrong?”

“I suppose I’ll be perfectly honest,” Obi-Wan sighed. “I’ve never especially cared for Stewjoni dishes.”

It hadn't even occurred to Anakin that Obi-Wan wouldn’t like Stewjoni food. He stared at his master, speechless. Before he could even formulate a coherent thought, an alarm began to ding incessantly from behind him.

“That’s the bread,” he sighed.

He opened the tiny oven door and slid the hot loaf out, placing it carefully on one of the empty spaces on the counter.

“You made bread?” Obi-Wan sounded downright impressed now. Funny how he could watch Anakin do the full sequence of Niman cadences without stopping and only remark that Anakin had done a half-turn in the middle where he should have done a full turn. But his Padawan making a loaf of bread was an occasion for awe.

“Yeah, but it’s Stewjoni bread,” Anakin grumbled. “So I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

Obi-Wan's smile widened. “Oh, Padawan. It smells very good.”

Anakin felt a smile creep across his own face, despite his best intentions. “Well, if the food is a bust, there is something else.”

“Something else? My goodness, Anakin, what has gotten into you?”

Anakin headed into the sitting area to retrieve a book he had earlier set to wait on the small table and placed it in Obi-Wan’s hands. “I know now that you don’t like Stewjoni food, but I hope you don’t feel the same way about Stewjoni poetry.”

“Poetry?” Obi-Wan examined the book with something like reverence. 

“The book is from Stewjon,” Anakin explained. “I had it shipped here.” When Obi-Wan didn’t reply, he went on. “You don’t have any books of your own, so I thought I would get you something nice.” His monthly stipend as a Padawan wasn’t much, but then, there wasn’t much he needed to buy. A special gift for his master seemed as good a use as any for his savings.

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly, still looking down at the book. “Anakin...you didn’t have-”

“Master, I _know._ Listen, I’m sorry if I did something wrong. If it’s too much.” He remembered suddenly all the lectures on restraint and prudence - two things that didn’t exactly come easily to him. And here, probably, was yet another example of his excessive impracticality. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Anakin. This is wonderful,” Obi-Wan said softly.

“Happy birthday, Master,” Anakin said. It occurred to him that he’d known Obi-Wan for five years but he’d never uttered that phrase til now.

“I am sorry about the food,” Obi-Wan said sincerely. “But I’m sure we can find someone around here that will appreciate it more than me.”

“Okay,” Anakin said. “But I think we should go out for dinner then. Since it’s a special occasion.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him, laying the book back down on the table. “All right. Dex’s it is, then.”

Anakin grinned and moved quickly to grab the robe he had flung over a nearby chair. He felt suddenly very hungry. But Obi-Wan wasn’t done.

“ _ After  _ you clean up the kitchen _. _ ”

“Naturally,” Anakin said, turning to face his mess and doing a pretty good job at hiding his disdain (he thought). He turned back toward his master. “I think my cooking days are over. Next year maybe you’ll just get a nice cup of tea.”

Obi-Wan had settled down into a chair and was leafing through his new book. “Well, it is the thought that counts.”

“But I don’t suppose that applies to dishes.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Anakin sighed and got down to work.


	5. Another Blanket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written for the "Definitely Just a Cold" prompt for Bad Things Happen Bingo on Tumblr. Please check out my [Tumblr](https://peachybitters.tumblr.com/post/642886868431699968/fic-another-blanket-prompt-definitely-just-a) if you want to see my card and feel free to suggest the next prompt!

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want another blanket?” Obi-Wan asked his miserable looking Padawan. “You were just complaining you were cold.”

Due to the temperate and climate controlled nature of Coruscant, the Jedi Temple had been constructed with no artificial heating system, so there was no way to adjust the temperature of the room. Most of the residents of the Temple were used to that, but Obi-Wan knew his Padawan, who had arrived from his desert world six years before, still became chilled easily when it rained. And especially, like now, when he was sick.

Anakin sat up slightly in his bed, managing a weary smile. A day into his illness, he was still trying to give the appearance of health and good spirits, with increasing futility. His face was flushed with a slight fever, his eyes watery. The flu would have its way Chosen One or not. “No, Master. I don’t need it. But thank you.”

“Well, I’ll leave it here, just in case,” Obi-Wan said, setting it on a nearby chair. “Get some rest.” He turned to leave, but Anakin called out to him again.

“Master, I really am starting to feel better. And it’s definitely just a cold-”

Obi-Wan cut him off. “We are not having this conversation for a _sixth_ time. You have the Rodian Flu. I’m sorry that means you’ll have to miss the tournament tomorrow.”

Anakin laid back against his pillows with a dramatic groan, as if Obi-Wan’s reminding him of the fact was simply too much to bear in his weakened state. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll be better, though.”

“Highly unlikely.” Obi-Wan knelt down by Anakin’s bed and tucked the blankets loosely around his Padawan’s shoulders. But Anakin wriggled defiantly and pushed them down again, openly cross now.

“Why are you always such a pessimist?” He grumbled.

“Me? We can go down to the healers’ and I’m sure they’d be happy to show you some true pessimism about your condition. I think they would have preferred to keep you down there, but they didn’t want to be held accountable for you sneaking away.”

Anakin rolled over to face the wall, huffing. “Well, sorry you have to be my nurse. I’m sure you just love that, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. He really did feel bad for the boy. The annual lightsaber tournament was one of the few events Anakin really looked forward to at the Temple, and not being allowed to participate would be difficult for him. He contemplated speaking to him on the importance of acceptance, but if Anakin was ever in the mood to absorb a lecture it certainly wasn’t now. 

Underneath his hand, he could feel the boy’s body lightly trembling with a new round of chills. He took the folded blanket from the chair and spread it over his Padawan. Anakin didn’t protest, but seemed to deflate back into his pillows as if accepting defeat.

“Master, I don’t feel good.”

 _That’s the most honest thing you’ve said all day_ , Obi-Wan thought, but didn’t say it out loud. “I know,” he said instead. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you in a little while, all right?”

Anakin turned over again and nodded, pulling the blankets up higher now. Obi-Wan put a hand against his face. At least it felt that the fever was going down a little thanks to the medicine the boy had recently taken. It was good sleep that he really needed now. 

“Promise me you’ll stay in bed?” He asked.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good boy,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin had two rather extreme moods he switched between when ill or injured - feisty and mulish, or sweet and docile. He liked to express plentiful gratitude for the sweet side when it appeared. He turned to leave, but Anakin called him back yet again, this time with a sleepy voice.

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“I’m still cold. Could you get me another blanket?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Of course.”

  
  
  
  



	6. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another prompt from Bad Things happen bingo! See my card here: [Bad Things Happen Bingo](https://peachybitters.tumblr.com/post/643856235742019585/thanks-for-the-promptask)
> 
> thanks for reading!

“These plants are from Ansion,” Obi-Wan said, stopping in front of a patch of bright violet and yellow flowers. Anakin had asked to see the Temple rooftop gardens when Obi-Wan had returned earlier from a day spent in Senate hearings, having left his apprentice behind to study. But now, though Anakin dutifully directed his gaze toward the the flowers, Obi-Wan detected his attention elsewhere.

“Something wrong?” Obi-Wan asked, knowing what Anakin’s answer would be.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Anakin said, still looking at the flowers.

“Is there something you want to ask?”

“You never told me where you came from, Master,” Anakin said, looking up at him now. “Before you were a Jedi.”

This was not what Obi-Wan had expected the boy to say, and wondered if it was really what had been on his mind, or if he was trying to distract himself.

“I came from Stewjon.”

“When you were a baby?”

“A little older. I was around three.”

“So you remember your family?” Anakin asked. “I remember a little bit from when I was three. That’s when we went to live on Tatooine. But I don’t remember where we were before. Do you remember your mother? What she was like?”

The questioning made Obi-Wan feel strange. Even, in a way, a little violated. No one hadever asked him that question; not that he could remember. Jedi did not ask of one another these kinds of questions. Some things were simply not discussed. And for a Padawan to ask it of his master - this was overly familiar and rude. Of course, Anakin, who’d only been training for two months, would not be expected to know. Obi-Wan would treat the matter with delicacy.

“The Jedi are my family,” he said, dodging the question. “There is no benefit for me in dwelling on the past.”

Thoughtful wrinkles appeared on Anakin’s childish forehead. “But you can go back to Stewjon if you wanted, right? I mean, to visit. I heard lots of Jedi visit their homeworlds. Master Rachi said she visited Ryloth and met with her family.”

“Sometimes a Jedi’s blood connections prove useful,” Obi-Wan explained. “Master Rachi’s connection with her biological family proved useful in building alliances which prevented conflict.” He almost winced at the dryness of his words. He sounded like a textbook, not a master. Anakin stared up at him blankly.

“But aren’t you ever just curious? Don’t you just want to know about where you came from?”

“Why are you asking me these questions, Padawan?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You said I should ask questions.” Anakin’s tone was sullen as he scuffed the toe of his boot against the stone tile.

“I did. But sometimes it’s more useful to us to examine the reasons behind our questions. What are you seeking?”

Anakin was silent, and Obi-Wan waited. Self-examination was a crucial skill for a Jedi. Perhaps more so than knowing how to swing a lightsaber. At least Qui-Gon had thought so. When Anakin still gave no answer, Obi-Wan nudged him along.

“You miss your own mother, don’t you?”

Anakin jerked his head up, his eyes narrowed. “No. I don’t want to talk about it.” The Force around him felt strangled and bleak. He was trying not to cry.

“You will stop missing her in time,” Obi-Wan said gently. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said it. He should have only coached the boy to take a breath and calm himself. But he needed Anakin to understand.

He expected a storm of tears from the boy, but what he got was a wave of anger so fierce he almost took a step back.

“I don’t _want_ to stop missing her,” Anakin shouted. “I don’t want to forget her, like you want me to. I won’t!”

“Anakin-”

“I want to be alone.” The boy stomped away, disappearing behind a large flowering shrub. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and sat down on a bench nearby, wondering how things could fall apart so quickly. He’d explained it all so badly. Who could blame Anakin for getting upset?

_Qui-Gon, how did you expect me to do this?_

Anakin emerged from behind the shrub a few minutes later, approaching his master tentatively and obviously embarrassed. His eyes were red.

“Feeling better?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Anakin said quietly.

Obi-Wan had nothing to say to that. He patted the bench seat beside him and Anakin sat down, wiping his sleeve across his eye.

“No one’s asking you to forget anyone, Anakin,” Obi-Wan told him. “I want you to try harder to listen to what I say instead of twisting my words around.”

Anakin sniffled and nodded. But Obi-Wan could tell his mind had already moved onto something else.

“Master?”

“Yes, Anakin?”

“When you said that the Jedi are your family, does that...does that mean _me_ too?”

_So he does listen. Just selectively, sometimes._

“Of course it does.”

Anakin nodded, as if to himself. Then he moved closer to Obi-Wan and put his arms around him, burying his face in his chest. This was not exactly proper behavior for a Padawan; some stricter members of the Order might consider such a display a flagrant breach of protocol. Obi-Wan wondered if he should pull away. But he didn’t.

_I am his master, and I can have a say in what is proper,_ he decided _._

After all, they were family.


End file.
